


Third Time Lucky

by oceandawn



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballum Big Bang 2020 (Eastenders), First Love, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceandawn/pseuds/oceandawn
Summary: Callum comes home with little more than just his name and the vivid memory of a cafe five minutes away from his house. There's also a guy, a guy that seems familiar even though his memory says otherwise.He could fall in love with him, he thinks. Just maybe.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 55
Kudos: 125
Collections: Ballum Big Bang 2020





	Third Time Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy. this is not what it should be because i rushed to finished it up to the deadline (i literally finished it like 5 minutes ago) because ive been so busy over the past months and no mindset to do it.
> 
> I ended up not liking this in the end but i wrote too much of it not to finish it, and it was way too late to change my idea ;;; so im sorry if this feels complete or rushed in places, because it is, and im a terrible writer mdnvkskcks
> 
> But! I hope its somewhat... enjoyable? 
> 
> Special thanks to my artist, niccolofares of tumblr who read through this the night before and cleaning up some rough edges. you're a hero (ill update with an art link once i have it!)
> 
> And thanks to ballym on tumblr for being a beta and reading through when it was bare bones
> 
> Warnings // talk of memory loss, alcohol, scars, strong language

He doesn't feel very warm anymore, like some part of himself is lost and he'll never get it back. Being home, or that's what the nurse called it, doesn't feel like that anymore. 

Well, he remembers some of it. The red walls, odd trinkets of destinations and photos frames of what look to be relatives. But now, running his fingers along the edge of the fireplace, dust builds on his skin.

This house is a time capsule, frozen ever since he left and never came back. And now that he is back, it feels as if he was never meant to, lost in his own bedroom and cold in his own sheets. They said it would take time, but he's already lost so much of it.

What frightens him the most is that he wants to catch up with what he's lost, but then how does he get that back? How does he _know_ what he's lost?

So he stays in, spends a week receiving calls from his allocated nurse asking how he is, and Callum mumbles a _yeah, I'm alright_ each time because nothing's changed. There's still a sense of incredible loneliness and frustration that he can't remember the placement for certain things in his kitchen.

By the fourth day of staying in, Callum finds a notepad, some old scribbles in it that look like a shopping list. He contemplates keeping them in case one day he finds it's some sacred memory he's been cursed to forget, but he rips the pages out until the notepad is looking a little thin but brand new.

And he places it on the side, flips over the cover and grabs a pen. He writes _Diary_ on the front page and taps the pen against his bottom lip. Maybe in time, this'll be a bad idea, but keeping tabs will help. Or, he hopes it will.

It's day seven of being home. She said it'd be a long road, the nurse, and some memories he may never get back, but it seems so awfully daunting standing on the edge of it all and looking down. Nothing but fog and darkness every step or tumble he takes.

Callum doesn't even know where to start.

There's got to be _something —_ perhaps _someone_ who knows him that'll help besides the nurse. He must have friends, right? Neighbours? The person that brings the post would surely know Callum if he's lived here long enough?

Once again, he's left listening to the empty thoughts of his mind. Callum is just so exhausted all the time, spending hours lingering in the hallways of his house and searching through his wardrobe to find shirts that don't even fit. Like, they're a size too small, yet all the others fit. What's up with that?

Callum spends most of the first week searching for memories. As if somehow, they'll be laid out for him like a cheap and exhausting easter egg hunt, but there's not much to go on when he looks at pictures of himself in frames and can't even recognise the shirt he's wearing until he finds it in his wardrobe.

There's a woman and another girl that keep appearing in an album he finds stuffed away in storage. One looks older, much older, and the other around his age. Maybe his mother? And then his sister? They all look somewhat alike, and then there's a guy occasionally, bald and rather funny looking. Perhaps he's related, as there's a picture with them both in suits, raising a glass, and their smiles are almost identical.

It makes Callum laugh, keeps flicking through more capsules of memories, and then goes back to the start which he missed in haste to find those memories.

_Highway Family Album_

_Huh._ So this is his family, and now he can slowly start to remember them — but where are they? Shouldn't they be here to look after him? To remind him he actually has someone and isn't so _alone?_

He sees the moisture from the tear that falls before he registers it, _"Shit,"_ and starts dabbing the page with the end of his sleeve to try and remove it. Thankfully it's not on the photos, but he has to close the book and _breathe._

Why is he crying? 

His family seems easy enough to remember, taking only an hourly trip between each of the pages, easily recalling memories from picture proof.

But it bothers him they're not here, and he doesn't know why they haven't called. In fact, he doesn't have many numbers on there. There's about ten, all names he can't really recall except family. No last names, either.

But there's something that's bugging him, that out of all the names, just _one_ has a little extra added on. It's only something insignificant now, but Callum feels there's another story to it.

_Ben x_

He's moments away from pressing _call,_ but his heart just isn't in it. Callum's already had enough of chasing his own life for one day, and he's exhausted. One day at a time the nurse said, and that's what he'll follow. If he wants to remember everything, he needs to make sure he allows himself the time and room to do so.

So he places his phone down on the table, stares at it a moment longer before deciding against it. He stands up with a grunt, eyes downcast to the phone and possible answers as he shrugs his coat on.

Wait — this doesn't fit. Frankly, it's not even his style. Red plaid? No thanks.

He places it back on the hook, fingers lingering on the fabric. If it doesn't fit him, then why is it in his house? A friend, maybe? Someone who looked after the house while he was in hospital?

Taking another coat, Callum is relieved to know that this one actually fits, because he _does_ like this one. And as he steps out into the street, he's daunted by the fact that he's going to have to learn that, too. Likes and dislikes — can they even change? Is it possible? Maybe he should ask the nurse.

Callum doesn't even know where he's going, and it's rather chilly, so this was a bad idea to begin with. Saying that, though, the fresh air is welcome, not so heavy and daunting like closed walls are. He's not even sure if he should be outside, but he feels a sense of normality mingling with the crowds as he walks, catching offbeat conversations about football matches and the newest blockbuster movie. He even hears and watches a kid in front of him make a bullet point list of the benefits of getting a puppy to his Mom.

It makes him smile, makes him feel part of the world, even if just for a moment.

Well, he lives here, so surely this _is_ his world, right? The local shop owners might recognise him, or strangers in the street might actually be people he's spoken to before.

But no one comes up to him, and for a few minutes in time, he feels disappointed, guilty. Perhaps he doesn't look approachable, slightly different in the way he walks or holds himself. He doesn't know who _Callum_ is apart from a name and the tingling exhaustion and anxiety in his body.

It comes to about the twenty-minute mark when he decides it's enough for one day and starts to head back. This time, he walks on the opposite side of the street, and he catches on to a familiar jingle.

Callum stops, watches his breath materialise in front of him before picking up his gaze from the floor. It's a cafe door, a wonky sign swinging, flickering red neon _OPEN_ as it rests against the window once more.

The bell over the door is rusted at the end, but the noise it makes it still brand new, maybe a little tinny. More than anything, Callum recognises it, knowing when the ring will end, how many times it roughly swings before stopping.

"Excuse me!" A woman says, and Callum blinks before stepping aside. He whispers a sorry, and the woman simply smiles at him, heading inside.

As the bell rings again, Callum's stomach tickles, as if he's nervous. This is something, a clue, the first piece of what feels to be a never ending puzzle in remembering parts of his life.

He steps back, reading the name of the establishment drawn in white, cursive paint upon red, fading wood.

_The Elephant Cafe_

Well, that's ironic. 

The phrase _elephants never forget_ pops into his head, making Callum huff. He shakes his head, teeth on his bottom lip as he curses whatever or whoever decided Callum would go down this route in life.

They're probably laughing at him, Callum hovering outside an establishment that taunts not only his loss of memories, but the one thing that he _can_ remember being that exact thing.

Either way, maybe something as simple as getting a coffee every morning will help settle him back into a routine. Does he even like coffee? Maybe he just met someone here?

He said he wouldn't do any more today, that the album was enough, but this is something mundane. Grabbing a coffee shouldn't be a trip down lost memory lane. In fact, it might help Callum talk to people, build his confidence, speak to the community that probably remembers him and Callum doesn't.

Taking a deep breath, cold winter soothes his airways, making him shiver a little before stepping towards the door. It feels like a big step when it shouldn't be.

The handle is rusty, glitters of gold along the surface, cold and stinging his skin from where his hand makes contact. It's got some detail, knots along the edges of the metal, and Callum takes a moment to frown towards his thumb that sends signals; _he knows this feeling._

So, he pushes the handle, hears the jingle once again and welcomes the warmth that smoothes over his face when he enters. He has to dip his head because of his height, but his muscles do it without a second thought.

Gentle conversation flows through the air, muffled talk about work or couples laughing over jokes. Some students are here, too, picked out by the pile of textbooks and laptops while one of them goes to get another round.

Callum could see why he'd like this place, modern but stuck in time about ten years back, fairy lights strung up around the edges of windows and towards the ceiling. It's warm, cozy, a perfect place to unwind.

He heads towards the counter after a moment of looking around, one other person already there. Callum places his fingers onto the mahogany wood, letting his fingertips remember old surfaces while the server smiles up at him.

"Hey!" They say, already moving to grab a certain sized cup. "Usual?"

Oh, so he _does_ go here. His ears weren't lying.

The beaming smile on his face makes the server smile in return, nodding when Callum laughs _please!_

Callum looks around more, tapping his fingers on the side when he hears commotion next to him.

"Sir? Can I take your order?"

Callum looks up, wonders what the commotion is, but he's drawn to the guy beside him staring blankly — staring at _Callum._

"Sir?" Repeats the server.

And finally, the guy turns back to them, and he smiles, quickly, shoving a five pound note across the counter, "Usual, please."

So he's a regular if he has a usual. That might help Callum in some way, but the guy doesn't look very approachable, more closed off than anything.

Besides, for him to be staring at Callum like _that,_ it must mean something, right? Not everyone stares at a complete stranger like they haven't seen them in months, as if there's something about them.

Callum decides not to bring it up. If he's a regular, then Callum has plenty of other opportunities to make small talk with the locals he's forgotten. Maybe the guy knows what happened to Callum, or he expected the worst if he didn't hear anything knowing he was in the army.

This was only meant to be a walk to clear his head. Callum needs to do this one day at a time, one step at a time.

As the stranger accepts his drink, he doesn't spare Callum a glance. He simply shrugs his coat onto his shoulders, popping the collar, and walks out with the same familiar chime of the bell.

At least Callum knows what he's doing tomorrow. A plan is better than nothing.

\- - -

_THE NEXT DAY_

Callum's decided he needs to make some friends. His phone contacts seem scary, overwhelming. It's already giving him a headache thinking of how many times he'll have to repeat himself to explain what's happened.

Frankly, he doesn't have the energy for it. He doesn't really have the energy for anything knowing his world is practically a blank canvas. But in reality, it's not blank, simply painted over to look new when all he's known is underneath, and somehow Callum will need to decide if he wants to paint something himself or chip away at the blank layer.

What he does know, or remembers thanks to a text, is that his dedicated nurse is visiting today like she will do every few days.

He doesn't really feel like waiting around for it, watching some mindless TV for a few hours until he hears the knock on his door. 

Callum decides to freshen up, get dressed, and head out his door with a newfound confidence for discovery.

Heading to the same cafe, Callum appreciates the gentle breeze present while the sun is beating down on the small town, humid and thick air making him a little uncomfortable. The weather in this country is way too comfortable changing so drastically every day.

It's not long before he's pushing through the door, stepping aside to let someone leave after him. Definitely more quiet than yesterday, more students and work from home souls plotted around. The work people grab their order and go, which explains the small line in such early hours of the morning.

And to his luck, even though deep down he was hoping for it, the stranger from yesterday is waiting in the adjacent line. Callum decides to wait for him to say something, but the guy is glued to his phone, texting and scrolling with little to no interest in looking at the world around him.

He seems _cold._ Not in temperature but posture, closed off more than yesterday, hard stare in his expression even though Callum's not sure what he could be angry about.

Eventually, it's his turn to order, and Callum says _the usual_ so that he can keep this puzzle piece that somehow fits with another on his journey.

The stranger beside him asks the same, and Callum beams at the opportunity. They're almost brushing shoulders even though he's a little taller, so he doesn't have to speak that loud to grab his attention.

"You had less trouble than yesterday," jokes Callum, giving a small tip of his lips. It's not much, smiling doesn't really come easy anymore.

For a moment, the stranger looks up, knowing whoever said it has to be near. He blinks, turning to Callum, eyes dropping to his lips quickly when he sees how Callum's smiling at him.

But the void shock of his expression shifts quickly, and it's as if he pulls down a blind over his face with a new expression he does it so quickly.

The bloke smiles back, though, shrugging, "Lost in your eyes."

Oh. He didn't expect that reply.

Callum blushes before he even realises he is, turning away with shy laughter.

"You're…"

"Forward?" The stranger finishes.

Callum realises he's not doing a good job at making friends already, "Oh — I don't mean it like that—"

"Relax, mate," Callum turns quick enough to see how the stranger looks away so he _can't_ look into his eyes again. "I get it a lot."

"What do you mean by that?" But Callum won't get an answer, because the guy's drink arrives in a _to go_ cup and he's out of time.

What he does get, is a wink sent his way, and Callum feels his chest twist in a fleeting way. 

_Wait a minute — I've felt that before._

The server has to call his name twice before Callum snaps out of staring at where the stranger once stood. He apologises profusely, sitting down at a table far in the corner and just observing his surroundings.

Callum spends the last hour or two scrolling through his phone after ordering another drink, catching up on the world and all of the news.

He's only missed about a month, and yet the world kept spinning without him.

It waits for no one.

\- - -

The checkup went well. He's recovering nicely, no issues to worry about. It's all good news, but there's an unsettling feeling in his stomach when the nurse leaves that it's one step of many.

At least the first is over. First step is always the hardest, right?

Callum goes to bed after whipping up something quick to eat, enough to touch the sides of his stomach without making him feel sick. Also, he's really good at it, this whole cooking malarky.

He remembers standing on a stool when he wasn't so blessed with height to help and learn from his mother. It's a skill worked into his muscles no memory can afford to forget. It's just a part of him.

The next morning, Callum hears heavy rain tapping against his window. At first, he thinks the worst of it, just another miserable day, but if he's going to keep his promise of daily walks, he can't let rain defeat him.

So he does his normal routine and then spends twenty minutes trying to find a raincoat. He does eventually settle on finding an umbrella, popping it slightly to check it's not damaged.

Thankfully, it's not, and he heads out, popping the collar on his trench coat as he pushes the umbrella into working fashion.

There's something about the rain he likes. Cold, with that musky smell only the air can bring when it's like this. Then there's the sound of the rain on the umbrella, muted like the window this morning, Callum looking between his feet and what's ahead every few seconds.

Callum's feet find the cafe again. The neon lights have some sort of atmospheric haze from the condensation inside the establishment, and Callum finds himself preferring this look, raindrops gathering on the overlay and dripping heavily down one side.

Imperfectly perfect.

He shrinks the umbrella before heading inside, almost bumping into someone on his way in. The doorway is small, so no wonder why Callum keeps accidently pushing into people. But then he sees other people do it, and maybe that's the charm of the cafe itself, fate in the form of a doorway.

That only happens in movies, though.

"Ah," a voice picks up, Callum startled momentarily before looking towards the source standing beside him. The stranger. "You must be the only guy with sense."

"What — what do you mean?" Yesterday he seemed so distant, and now, Callum feels like he's being tripped up.

The stranger has his coffee in one hand, so he points with his free hand to the red of Callum's trusty umbrella.

"Umbrella," he then gestures outside. "Heavens have opened after almost four days of sunshine. You're the only guy I've seen with one."

"Well," Callum laughs, nerves clear in how he shifts on his feet. "It took me a while to find it, almost left without one."

"I—" the stranger starts, but his lips close.

Callum feels cold all of a sudden. What was he going to say?

"Glad you found it," he lifts his cup, gesturing towards it. "I just need this, in honesty."

Callum's eyes are drawn to it, more importantly, the name written in black marker, no need for ticking anything off the boxes with potential drink orders. He's a regular.

 _Ben —_ the name on the cup is _Ben._

There's a weird hollowness in his throat, like he's suddenly aware of breathing, of blinking. It's just a name, and yet, finding out about this stranger's name feels oddly like winning one small battle.

But Ben hasn't told him that he _is_ a Ben, and Callum saying goodbye with his name will either prompt a reaction Callum doesn't want or a sense that somehow them bumping into each other isn't coincidence.

"What's your choice?"

Ben looks a little winded, and he sighs before speaking. "Coffee."

"Oh," Callum smiles, moving out the way as someone asks to get past. "I don't think I'm a fan of that."

"I know." 

Both of their faces drop, and Ben hazardly checks his watch, putting on a smile.

"Well, I'm late," he gives a small shrug to Callum, who feels like his feet are stuck in concrete. "Better get cracking."

Callum still doesn't know how to react when he can see Ben halfway down the street through the cafe window.

It's still in his head when he gets home, the drink he ordered untouched and growing cold in his hand as he places his back to the door.

Ben's voice rings, ricochets.

_I know._

_\- - -_

Ben bothers him. Not in the sense of that he annoys him and sees him every day, because he does, but the fact he can't figure him out drives him almost insane.

Five days later, he's deciding whether to go to the cafe, because every day since those words slipped from Ben's mouth, he's pretended as if Callum doesn't exist. He won't even meet his eyes.

Maybe he should do something else today.

His phone contacts, seemingly small in number are the focus of the day. Callum ends up ringing most of his family members, updating them wherever they seem to be. They were meant to be notified when Callum left the hospital because they all went back to work abroad to keep their jobs.

Now he's out, they've promised they'll fly over some time in the next week depending on flights and when they can get time off.

Callum just thanks them, and the deep breath he exhales is one that he feels for hours. It's a relief more than anything that he's not entirely alone, that there are people out there that know him and give him a place.

But one thing bugs him; why is Callum here and they're out there? Yeah, he was away for a tour most of the time, but surely he could've moved with them so he doesn't have this house all to himself.

He decides to try someone else on his contact list after a quick snack break, and his heart _jumps_ at the name _Ben._

This is too much of a coincidence to ignore.

He opens the conversation to flirty texts and promises to get bread in the morning. There's a bunch of _miss you so much_ texts and _I wish you were home_ messages that make Callum tear up.

Someone out there misses him and he has no idea, no remembrance as to who they are except a phone that always knows more than he does anyway.

There hasn't been a text for over a month, but the last ones are all from this Ben character, and he sounds desperate.

_[Ben]: miss you_

_[Ben]: i wish i could do something_

_[Ben]: you promised me_

_[Ben]: i can't be angry at you but i feel i am_

_[Ben]: i just miss you_

_[Ben]: please_

It sounds like they had a fight, and Callum took the silent treatment route, but there's only one way to find out. 

At least now he knows why there's a kiss at the end of his name.

Ringing him seems too daunting, and there's no establishment that they're still together or apart to ring up out of the bloom and say _hey, remember me?_

He texts him instead, biting his bottom lip as his thumb hovers over _send._

It takes him a minute, but it arrives, and now Callum waits.

And waits. _And waits._

Hours pass, and it's well into the night when his phone pings with a message. It's not even from Ben, but his mother, asking if he's alright.

Yeah, he is, but the gnawing thought of having forgotten love is starting to make him feel more than lonely. He feels lost.

Just as he's about to put the phone down again, a text message pops down from the top, and Callum reads it before it disappears upwards.

_[Ben]: who's this?_

Oh. Great.

Looks like ex-Ben deleted his number after the silent treatment. Or was that the time he was in hospital and _couldn't reply?_

He checks the dates, and it checks out. He was mid recovery during these texts, but Callum must have not been in a state nor had the mind to remember pressing issues with his boyfriend.

He's gay?

Callum pushes his hands over his face, sighing. That's enough for one day, but he does reply with another text for good measure.

_[Callum]: it's Callum. can we talk?_

He leaves it at that, switching his phone to silent and getting ready for bed. Today feels like four steps forward and five backwards if the headache simmering inside is anything to go by.

Ex boyfriend. Family overseas. Maybe he really is alone more than he'd like to admit — but is ex Ben the Ben at the cafe? Is that why he's so distant? So hesitant to talk to Callum?

Well, only one way to find out.

\- - -

Callum doesn't get a reply to the text, and Ben at the cafe doesn't even look twice at him on the way out the next day. It feels like he's losing a game he doesn't know the rules to.

And they meet, again and again, same drink orders, same time of day. Callum's angry more than confused at this point, and not even the small weekend he had with family was enough to keep his mind off him.

Granted, he does feel a little more _together_ after seeing his family, short spots of memories surfacing like he's tying up loose ends. His mother is the most concerned, wondering where _Ben_ is and he just has to shrug and try not to look like he's burning from the inside because he doesn't know who _Ben_ is.

He's either an ex that didn't stick around through the worst point of his life or it's cafe Ben. Him saying _I know_ to his drink order can't be just mere coincidence. They must _at least_ be friends, or Callum visited so often that the guy just got used to him, but then why hasn't he asked about the time he spent away? Or what about where he's been?

That's what people do, right? Ask people how they are?

Callum doesn't let him walk away this time, blocking the door to the cafe when Ben goes to bolt. Callum almost regrets it when he sees Ben look up from where he's been staring at the floor for what feels like weeks now.

And his eyes are — _grey._ They don't seem blue like Callum's seen them before, and his eyes hold exhaustion that was only hinted at the first day he met him. There's no witty charm or smile to distract from the hard lines of his pained expression.

"You done?" Ben says, and Callum is so struck by the reality of Ben being someone he suddenly cares about that he doesn't realise he's automatically stepping to the side.

Ben takes a breath, Callum hears it, rattling between his teeth. That's relief. 

He says nothing else as Ben exits through the door, but Callum isn't done. He steps back out, glancing after Ben who seems to be rather slow in pace, as if he's not sure in himself to leave or not.

"Wait!" Callum shouts, causing Ben to stop. How would he even know he's talking to him? There's other people around.

Ben does turn around, though, eyes to the floor still. He's listening.

"Can we talk?" Those words stick between them, a barrier that folds the closer they get to one another, harder to push against with less distance between them.

Ben takes one look at him before glancing away, taking a deep breath. 

"Nothing to talk about," he says, and Callum feels the words snap back to him like elastic, Ben already letting go after not even holding them that long.

And Callum can't move when Ben starts leaving. Does that mean they're not who Callum thinks they are? Or do they not know what's happened to him and still think he's some sort of cheater ignoring him for that long?

Callum's fists clench by his side, suddenly angry with it, but he can't do anything now. He'll just have to find another clue, something else to place Callum in such a lost world.

\- - -

The next day, Callum thinks twice about turning up at the cafe. In fact, he does go, but Ben isn't there, and he's _always_ there at this time, brooding and ordering the usual before he ventures off to wherever he works.

Callum doesn't see him until two days later, looking worse for wear as he taps Callum's shoulder to get his attention. He's a little shocked to see him, considering Callum thought he'd pushed too far too early.

"We can talk," is a very big difference from before, but Ben took his sweet time in giving Callum a chance _he_ asked for.

Callum can't be angry about that. He needs some form of closure if this really is nothing, and perhaps Ben didn't know how to break it to him.

Nevertheless, Callum smiles, nodding towards him with a shake starting to settle in his hands. He's suddenly nervous, nervous of possibility.

"Yeah, sure." 

Ben doesn't do anything in reply, just turning around and heading for a table. Callum guesses that's his prompt to follow. He grabs his order and steps after him, Ben picking a table in the far corner away from everyone else.

It's isolating, sitting down opposite him as Ben cracks a small smile that doesn't last longer than a few seconds.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey," Callum replies, tapping his fingers against the mug, the contact not enough to burn his fingers.

Ben's needed time by the looks of it, stealing a few more seconds as he allows silence to settle over the quiet booth

"What do you want to know?" 

Well. It's something but nothing at the same time. How does Callum ask for _everything?_ He can't just say it, blurt it out and hope for the best, because Ben doesn't know what _everything_ means.

Everything about Ben? About Callum? About _them?_

He starts small, taking a sip of his drink to warm his throat.

"I want to know if I know you," and Callum expects a questionable gaze, but Ben remains hauntingly blank in expression. "I should probably explain?"

Ben nods, "Sure."

Definitely _not_ what Callum was expecting.

He goes over his time away, what happened, why he's back home and how it doesn't feel like home at all. Ben remains blank, still, through it all. Callum's worried that Ben is some complete stranger and he feels sorry for Callum in some way so he's pretending.

"You don't remember me at all?" It's a horrid question, and Callum's whole body tenses with it.

"No," he replies, not being able to look Ben in the eye. "No. I'm sorry. All I have is— your name in my phone. I think it's you, anyway."

Ben nods again, and Callum wonders if this is what he's like, distant and bold with his pride locked behind steel walls. If he does know him, Callum thinks how on earth he could've liked him enough to stick around.

"Uh, yeah. We had a thing."

So the kiss at the end of his name means something.

"A thing?"

"Should've said fling. On and off. Was good," Ben shrugs, but there's still very little in his movements. It's probably for the best, in honesty, that Callum doesn't seem to be convinced as to why he'd even approach Ben.

Well, apart from the obvious. He's attractive.

"It wasn't anything serious?"

Ben hesitates, lips parted to say something until he decides against it.

"No," Ben doesn't sound convincing at all. Maybe Ben has feelings Callum never acknowledged, both choosing to ignore them and Ben is simply deciding what route to take. "Just fun, really."

Callum clicks his tongue, deciding not to look at Ben as silence falls between them again.

Well, what now?

He knows he's got a _fling_ with this guy, and he's the only one he's spoken to during his weeks back that's _not_ his nurse. Maybe it'll be good for him to keep Ben around and find out why the _hell_ he saw anything in him in the first place.

"Would you want to go out for a drink sometime?" Maybe it's a stretch to ask, but Callum is out of options and definitely out of clues as to where to turn next in his voyage or re-self discovery.

"A drink?"

"Yeah," Callum shrugs. "I don't really know if that's my thing, though."

"It's not," Ben says, sudden, and Callum pauses to look at him. He knows a lot more than he's giving away, or it's just fact.

"Well, do you want to anyway?"

Ben smiles, then he laughs, "You're shit at this."

"Somehow worked on you last time," Callum argues back, and for a moment, Ben's smile becomes something sweet for the first time.

"You're right," he says, sighing as he stands up. "I'll text you. Gotta' check my schedule at work." 

"Okay?" Callum watches him as he leaves, still struck as to how that even went. Better than nothing, after all.

But _god,_ did Callum just ask him out on a date? A literal stranger he's known five minutes considering the reality he's in?

He sips his drink with newfound nerves, staring at a particular scratch on the table as he thinks about what he's going to do next, and more importantly — _why?_

\- - -

"Callum!" A voice sings behind him as he orders his drink two days later, turning round to Ben standing at the door. But his voice doesn't match.

There's a thump against his leg, and Callum looks down to a small kid waving up at him. Blonde hair, bright eyes. 

She knows his name. But he doesn't know hers. 

The lack of enthusiasm on Callum's part starts to pay the price, as the smile completely fades from her face as Callum stares at her, blank expression, not sure what to do.

"Are you okay, Callum?" She asks, two tiny fingers tugging on his shirt, worry in her eyes. Callum's heart aches.

"Lexi," Ben appears beside him. That must be her name. "He's just tired, okay?"

Callum sends a grateful smile his way. Ben doesn't return it, lingering on his lips before focusing back on Lexi. 

"Oh!" She's excited again, this time picking at the bracelet on Callum's wrist. "You still have it!"

Callum places his thumb against the woven bracelet, blue in colour. Maybe it's his favourite. He knows why he wears it, but there's no memory of where it came from.

"My good luck charm," says Callum, smiling when she does.

"To keep you safe!" Lexi is unbelievably lovely, and he starts to wonder who she even is. She has a lot of love for Callum by the looks of things.

Then Lola turns up, surprised to see Callum too. She hugs him, and when they pull back, Lola looks sorry, as if she had something to do with all of this, or that she knows something he doesn't.

Ben sits them down, explains, and Lola and Lexi both share sad faces.

More pieces to the puzzle.

\- - -

Ben does eventually text him a day, almost four days later for them to go out. It's odd, in all honesty, how the club is so loud but so welcoming because his thoughts aren't clear with the bass pulsing through the floor.

He doesn't drink, he can't, and frankly the smell of it makes him feel a bit sick. Perhaps he's used to life without it, a workout or training schedule he had to follow.

Thankfully, Ben doesn't seem bothered, and he doesn't push Callum or even ask if he wants a drink. Ben already knows he doesn't want one, and in some way it's nice and others it isn't.

Ben knows a lot about Callum that he doesn't know himself. Still, he tries to enjoy himself, a sense of normality folding around them.

He slurs his words a lot when he's wasted, or maybe that's just Ben trying to flirt, pretending he can hold his liquor when he can't. Callum doesn't mind, not even when their noses almost brush when Ben punctuates his hate towards impolite strangers. He has to move close so Callum can hear him over the music.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Callum decided to get to know him before, wondering what he's going to say next, the charm in the way he moves and looks at him, his entire attention on Callum and no one else.

He talks about life, about his kid, about Callum. Mostly, he's just drunk, saying how fit he is, how he missed him. There's weight behind it, but he just doesn't know what it is.

"I think you've had enough," Callum says an hour later, pulling him away from the bar when Ben said he's off to get another round.

 _"What?"_ Ben grumbles against him, Callum swinging his arm around his waist to support him. "You're no fun."

"No, I'm sensible," Callum opens the door for him, and thankfully this place is local, meaning he can take Ben to his place and he can sleep it off before he drives home.

Ben still has an air of confidence about himself even when he's hanging off one of Callum's arms, smiling as he talks about some guy he met a few years back. 

"I'm beginning to think I bored you," says Callum, lifting Ben up when he seems to stumble. He laughs, a little bubbly as he pats Callum's chest.

"Never boring," he replies, and his hand stays there, warm and solid, and Callum feels an odd sense of longing to keep it there forever.

"You think so?" 

"I know so," Ben winks, but Callum's not laughing.

Yeah, he does. Callum doesn't. But thankfully he seems to be memorable enough for Ben, only talking about him and little hints about who they were. They just sound like friends with benefits, having fun while they're young, but it's not entirely clear.

As Callum reaches his house, he fumbles with the key while Ben leans on his shoulder. His presence is warm and heavy, still aware of himself and who he's with by how he grasps for Callum's hand.

Callum feels his heart jump, looking at Ben who just stands there, eyes casted down to their hands, a cloud of sadness over his face that suddenly makes everything about them ever more confusing.

"Come on," Callum can't stand it anymore. "Let's get you inside."

Ben nods, tongue wetting his lips as the once blushed face and cheeky smile morphs into something sad. There's still redness to his cheeks, but the charm of his movements is gone, becoming more sleepy and slow.

"You're no fun," he says, and Callum laughs, trying to pick up the atmosphere that's turned heavy as he leads Ben to the couch.

"You said I wasn't."

"Mm," mumbles Ben. "Hate being on my own."

Callum's about to say he wasn't, but the look in Ben's eyes isn't focused at all, staring at the ceiling from how he slumps against the sofa, head tipped back onto the spine of the chair.

He's not here, in a sense, lost in his own mind as exhaustion catches up to him. Callum thinks he's going to say something big from how he leaves the air open.

"Hate being without you."

Callum feels himself lock up, watching as Ben falls to put his head on a pillow, turning his back to him. He's not lying then, about them being something.

But surely, if they weren't serious, Ben shouldn't be confessing how he misses him when he's drunk on Callum's couch.

Maybe he's mistaking Callum for someone else, the love he couldn't have, Callum being a distraction away from that and he can't distinguish the two when his heart has more control than his brain right now.

Callum stays a little longer, wondering if Ben is going to say anything else. He doesn't, and Callum is still clueless when Ben's little snores start to whistle.

He should ask Ben, ask him to be honest, but it's horrible thinking that there's more to them and Ben's too scared to say anything.

Does Callum even want anything to do with him? To be around him in that way? It's the only sense of normality he's really had, finding it in a stranger that's not so unknown at all.

There's no denying how he felt, either. The pull between them, how Ben looks at him with a certain allure that makes Callum want to stick around.

Maybe that's just Ben.

Maybe it's Callum's heart remembering something he can't. _Muscle memory_.

\- - -

Ben awakes to the smell of food. It's something familiar, hearty like a big breakfast, and Ben is thankful he has no hangover that's hammering nails into him just yet.

But this isn't his house. This isn't his sofa — at least, it _was._

Ben turns over, the world becoming clear, and dread starts to creep in that he can't remember what happened last night. He's in Callum's house, he knows that straight away, but he shouldn't still _be_ here.

He stands up, almost falling over because he did so too quickly, and searches for whatever soul he'll find.

Callum.

The radio is on, cooking away, back towards Ben as the sleepy nature in which he stands means he has to slump against the frame of the door. This is too perfect, too real, too like before.

Ben smiles, thinking it's a dream. He's been blessed with a good one and not a nightmare at last. He starts walking, about to sink his arms around Callum's waist when Callum startles, causing Ben to stop in his tracks.

Ben was so close, _so close_ to whispering _you're home._

Callum gives him an awkward smile, and Ben can't do this.

He feels sick.

"Morning," says Callum, and Ben turns around with his hand on his throat.

Shit. He needs to get out of here.

When Ben doesn't respond, he speaks up again, Ben heading towards the living room again. 

"I'm making you breakfast, if that's okay? I know hangovers aren't the best but—"

Ben has his hand on the door when Callum stops talking. He looks back to see Callum utterly shocked, somewhat pained by Ben simply checking he has his things before leaving.

But he needs to check something.

"We didn't—" starts Ben, looking away from Callum because he can't say it to his face. "Did we?"

Callum swallows, a twist forming in his gut.

"No," replies Callum, and Ben's shoulders drop a little. "We didn't. I just brought you here to crash."

Ben nods, lingering as he debates his decision, and then leaves.

Callum flinches at the sound of the door slamming. Maybe they really were just that. Something but never nothing. A means to an end.

So why does it hurt so much to see him leave?

\- - -

It's a quiet few weeks, Ben not appearing at the cafe for days on end. When he does appear, he glances Callum's way, smiles, and then nothing else.

Callum doesn't know what to do about it, because he doesn't really know anyone else except Lola and Lexi. Lola texts a lot, but it feels as if she's hiding something too, and Callum is two seconds away from packing up and moving to start fresh.

But he's not a fan of giving up, of letting that side win. He's already lost too much to lose the very little he has now.

So he confronts Ben, tells him to call him or meet him, and they agree to set up another date where Ben doesn't get absolutely wasted this time.

It seems Callum always has to take the first step and then Ben will come running. Something about that dynamic hurts him a bit, that it's entirely Callum making the effort to fix them, but he's not going to forget how this might be affecting Ben. He's probably hurting just as much as he is.

The dates make everything feel right. Callum feels like he belongs again, laughing at something Ben says over food at a restaurant, then laughing at commentary Ben whispers over to him at the movies.

Callum realises by the third time they go out together that they might actually _be_ dates, because Ben smiles at him in a way that makes Callum's heart melt, and getting to know him makes Callum understand why he'd fall for a guy like him.

By the fourth, he's taking him home, dropping him off at Ben's flat building as they walk back together from where they decided to go out for dinner. The air is electric, and Callum is nervous with it.

Ben doesn't seem to say much, just looking up to Callum as a daring question sits on his tongue.

"You, uh— wanna' crash at my place?"

Callum seems to beam, and Ben's stomach feels the first butterfly take flight in a long, _long_ time.

"Yeah," Callum replies. "And this time I think I'll stay for breakfast."

Ah, Ben remembers. He's joking about the first time they went out, and Ben can't help but chuckle at him. 

"Alright, shut up," mumbles Ben, heading towards the door and letting Callum in, leading him into the elevator and pressing the button for his floor.

Callum smiles next to him, and Ben doesn't know what he's up to.

"What?" His voice makes Callum look towards him.

"Nothing."

"It's something," Ben replies, smiling at the thought of something. It's like falling in love with him all over again.

It's only when the doors open that Callum says it.

"I wanna' kiss you."

_I wanna' remember what it's like._

_Why it's you I chose._

Ben almost misses his chance to stop the door closing, lungs feeling tight as he steps out, Callum behind him. Ben spares a glance at him.

_Shit. He's blushing._

"Why's that?" Ben questions, trying to calm the heart beating against his ribs to break free and allow Callum to hold it again.

_Again._

_I wanna' be with you again._

_But you don't know who I am._

Ben stands there outside his door, suddenly feeling out of place, because this isn't the first time for Ben, but it is for Callum in some sense.

But it's all the same, if not more, how Callum places one gentle hand against his cheek, turning his face towards him, thumb brushing over the hinge of his jaw as he pulls him in.

"Can I?"

_Still a gentleman, then._

"Yeah," Ben replies, breathless.

Their noses brush, and Ben's heart plunges into warmth, lips pressing against Callum's after so, _so long—_ but it doesn't feel how Ben imagined it would.

It's not arriving home in the middle of the night, rushed kissing because Callum's missed him and Ben equally so. This is measured, new, a little nervous because Callum's not sure if he's doing it right.

Ben should step back, leave, tell Callum who they really are, but having him back blinds everything else, making his hands reach for Callum's jacket and pulling him closer. If he doesn't see the loss in Callum's eyes, the nervous way he follows Ben inside, then this _could_ be Callum arriving home, whispering _I've missed you_ on his lips and picking him up.

But this time it's Ben doing all of it, shutting the door, laughing when Callum almost stumbles over something.

And when he gets his hands at the back of Callum's neck, it's different. There's raised skin, a scar, and it makes Ben freeze.

"Ignore it," he says, kissing along Ben's jaw and Ben simply has to follow, because this feels _good,_ feels _right_ but so _wrong_ at the same time.

"Okay," Ben breathes, but it doesn't sound like it. So he tries again, hands moving to grip his jacket again. "Okay."

"I just wanna' feel— I dunno," Callum stutters over his own words, taking a breather. "Just— can we have this?"

_No, we can't._

But Ben doesn't listen, nodding, and Callum's diving back in. It's been so long.

So long.

He needs this. They both do, in different ways.

\- - -

Ben wakes up before Callum. He always did, always an opposite here to when he's out there. Callum sleeps in past his usual wake time when he's out there, knowing he's safe in Ben's arms.

It's no different now, with Ben turning over to see him still sound asleep against the pillow, his arm weighted over Ben's waist, soft little mumbles that can't really be classed as snores falling from his lips.

Ben wishes this was okay. Wishes this was not the nightmare they're both living in. He settles his head back against the pillow, smiling as Callum adjusts, almost shuffling closer to him.

He closes his eyes, wanting to steal as many seconds as he can with Callum before they're gone. They've leaped too far with nowhere to land, and now Ben feels that the very fake floor between them will fall through.

"Hey," he hears Callum say, and Ben opens his eyes to see him smiling.

"Hey?" Ben frowns, but a smile starts to creep onto his lips. "How'd you know I was awake?"

"I didn't," he laughs, and Ben's smile falls.

This is way too familiar. And it is, because he's done this before. Both of them have.

"You, uh— want something to eat?" asks Callum, his pinky finger poking at Ben's hand, looking down to them.

"Wow, breakfast in bed?" Ben laughs, and feels breathless when Callum kisses him without an answer.

"That a yes?"

Ben takes a moment to breathe, staring at Callum for a moment until Ben feels his face fall again, unable to keep his smile. He shouldn't be doing this, but he's missed him.

Missed _them._

"Sure," he says, fingers moving down Callum's arms as the pair of them stare a little longer, and Callum starts to frown when he sees the freckles on Ben's nose. 

He — remembers them, somehow. But everyone has freckles, and perhaps he likes guys with freckles. Either way, Callum shakes it off, kissing Ben for a few more seconds until he pulls himself away.

Ben watches as he shrugs on some clothes, suddenly hating how quiet and heavy the air feels. Usually, they'd still be joking, Ben holding his hand and pulling him back to cuddle a bit longer, but Ben feels frozen. This doesn't feel right, doesn't feel real.

And it's not. It's all a lie. Ben's lying to him.

Callum gives him a sweet smile on the way out, hammering the nail in Ben's heart home even more. Shit.

He has to tell him. He will. It just seems too late now, horribly too late. It'll only ruin everything, but then maybe he deserves that for lying.

The more Ben thinks about it after Callum's left, the more the euphoria from last night dwindles thinking about how they aren't really broken up. They never _broke up,_ they weren't a _fling._ They're forgotten, and Ben sighs, pushing his face into the pillow to decide what to do.

He has to tell him. Now rather than later.

There's a cling of metal across the hall, and Ben's anxiety suddenly dwells, cold and tingling as he knows what Callum might find on his otherwise harmless task of making breakfast.

Callum doesn't really know what he's doing, though. He has no idea of the layout of Ben's kitchen, and it's rather small that he doesn't feel like he can guess where things _might_ be.

It's all very unorganised, annoyingly, but Callum manages to find a few things, and the fridge and freezer barely have any food in it, but there's enough to whip up something for them to eat.

Maybe he did this too, back then.

He's so lost in the thought of it that he doesn't know he's staring at a picture frame shoved into one of the drawers, and it doesn't kick in until his chest starts to burn, trembling hands moving to pick it up.

There's footsteps behind Callum that stop, and Callum knows it's Ben, that what he's found will shatter the only thing they have.

The photo is something private, a snapshot of them from before, and Callum doesn't even feel as if he's looking at himself in the picture, a face void of agony and confusion. He fits so perfectly in that picture, like he belongs, but if they took the same picture now, he fears he wouldn't show up.

But that's not the worst of it.

In the corner is a piece of paper, ripped in a certain way, and Callum feels his heart rise in his throat way too quickly. He can barely read the words.

He turns, looking away, only for his eyes to land on Ben, looking as if he's staring at his worst fear.

_No. Nonono— it wasn't meant to happen this way—_

"You wanna' explain this to me?"

Ben feels glued to the floor, staring at the wooden frame Callum holds of _them._

He parts his lips to say something, to plug the holes in the rapidly sinking boat, but Callum kicks the foundations barely holding it together already.

"You've been lying to me," Callum looks back at the frame, but it makes his eyes burn like he's cutting onions. "This— this is a lot more than just a _fling,_ Ben."

"Callum—"

 _"No!"_ Callum's voice barks out, and Ben jumps at it, knowing it's over before Callum even starts moving. "No! You don't get to lie to me!"

Ben is helpless when Callum takes the frame with him, brushing past Ben to head back to the bedroom, thunder under his feet.

He could've avoided this so easily, and Ben decided not to. He decided to do everything the wrong way because it felt too good to be true.

"Cal— Callum, please," Be reaches out for him again when he's walking past, pulling down part of his shirt on the way towards the door, adjusting his coat and shoving the frame inside one of his coat pockets.

Callum doesn't answer him, his brain going ten miles to the dozen at what this all means. Not even one last cry from Ben stops him until he's out the door, standing in the hallway and thinking about the drastic difference to last night.

He pushes one hand against his face, trying to drown it out.

_"You gonna' open the door?"_

_"Maybe if you stopped kissin' me I could concentrate!"_

It feels so far away now, last night, and frankly, it hurts to remember that all of Ben's smiles, the way he looked at him in adoration, like he'd finally found him again— it all makes sense.

That's how Callum knew, how Ben folded under his hands, what made him tick. He's done it all before, more than once.

They were never just a fling. They were something _more._

\- - -

Callum is expecting his nurse today. He's made some brownies as a thank you, and he's scribbling down some new notes and memories in his recovery diary to keep tabs on his progress.

He still can't stop thinking about Ben, and for a few seconds he feels like writing _Ben is bad news_ in the corner like he's writing some high school diary. 

In the end, he doesn't, settling for drawing circles instead, leaning his head on his hand, going back to what he saw yesterday.

He doesn’t know why he took the picture. Maybe he just wanted to look at it in his own time, to see if his handwriting matches up, but it's useless. It's all useless. Callum can't even bring himself to take it back out of the drawer he shoved it in when he got back yesterday.

Callum sat in the darkness of his room for hours, suddenly haunted by how the blue sheets he saw in the picture visibly match the one he has on now.

There was no easy sleeping, either. Ben’s texting him, Callum ignoring each one, not even reading them, only knowing it's him from the name that pops up on the lock screen.

Now it's the morning, he doesn't really expect himself to think about it because he's exhausted, and to be honest, the only thing he wants to do is be the Callum in that picture.

Warm, someone else in his arms, a moment of solace. It doesn't feel like he's going to have that again.

The knock on the door breaks him from the daydream of soft memories and lazy mornings, kisses on his lips that feel too sweet.

Callum sighs as he stands up, feet heavy as he moves towards the door.

He expects the knock to be anyone else, but that's a fools game to believe in. It's Ben, looking down, heavy in the way he hangs his shoulders and hood pulled up to shield him from the downpour.

"Hey," Ben tries to smile, but he knows it's not welcome, and he can't even feel it in himself to try again.

"Why — how do you know my address?"

Ben bites his tongue, looking away to shake his head. Every time Callum proves he's forgotten part of them it hurts just that little bit more. Ben's good at holding it all in, but there's only so much before he inevitably breaks.

"We dated," Ben sniffs, lifting his hand to bring Callum's attention to a shoe box, damp with a few droplets from the rain. "Here."

"What's this?" Callum takes it with caution, eyes down to the cardboard and the price tag half ripped off. It looks worn, used many times and shoved into the back of a cupboard somewhere.

Callum tries to ignore what he just said.

_We dated._

"Your letters," Ben shoves his hand back into his pockets. "Every single one."

_Letters?_

Callum looks up to him, the two worlds they stand in. Ben stands in rain, Callum stays dry. Both of their worlds in turmoil but in different ways — Ben with the noise of rain, and Callum with white noise.

But what's even more brutal, is how heavy his heart _thumps_ when he realises he's holding physical proof of what they were, the Callum he can't remember.

"You — kept them?" And then another question falls quickly. "I wrote letters?"

The question feels like a trigger, and he's provided with an answer in his thoughts that matches Ben's living, memorable proof of it.

"You didn't want to video call because you said it'd make you miss me more. Plus, it avoided me trying to do anything that'd make your ears burn red."

Callum moves his hand up to feel them. They're a little warm when Callum catches on to what he means.

"Oh," he says, and Ben huffs. Callum smiles at him, but the momentary truce starts to break apart.

Callum has a lot more to ask him, but it's better not said than said at all, because Ben is turning away, shoulders squeezed together against the bitter cold before stepping back into his car.

He recognises that car, too. Maybe all the pieces are coming together, but why does it hurt so much?

Callum realises he's standing with his door open, staring at where Ben once was when his neighbour calls over to ask if he's alright. He gives them a quick smile and stutters a _yeah!_ before heading back inside, his back against the closed door.

He's hugging the box, begging. This needs to be something, needs to be answers.

Maybe Ben knew they would be, but they'd hurt him all the same. It was a choice between remembering and having the pain come back with a chance, or Callum never knowing at all and losing him.

It takes him a few minutes to step into his living room, placing the box down and opening it with trembling hands, shocked as to how many are in there.

These are _just_ Callum's? 

But then he's looking at the handwriting, recognising it's his own at first glance, stamps over the front from travelling miles and miles back home.

This is him. This is Callum.

More importantly, it's what he was to Ben, what he meant to him. And Ben's kept all of them, mini memoirs of his own.

There's ones dated years back, months — but the most recent sits on the top. He has to start somewhere, and maybe the last step before he lost it all will help him place his feet somewhere.

Callum unfolds the letter, thumb moving over the crinkles in the paper. Ben's definitely read this a few times, or it's been damaged on the journey from sand to home.

Either way, the words are still clear to this day, and even with the lack of memory, he can recognise his own writing, can remember the sweat on his back when he wrote it, waiting out the night.

_Hey, Ben_

_Thought I'd write you another letter. I wasn't going to after my last one, seeing as I promised it would be, and that I wanted to focus on getting home. You said not to think about you so much, which is something I can hear you say, but it's hard not to when I miss you._

_I hope Lexi's okay, her bracelet is keeping me safe. The guys always ask about her, they practically think she's my kid now — is that weird? I do miss her a lot, and I definitely have to take her to the movies when I'm back. Hopefully she'll be happier to know I'm not leaving again._

_You're probably a bit shocked about that, right? I was thinking about it a lot, what I have with you. I'm tired of spending most of my time with you through letters, and I know you worry like hell when I'm gone. I don't want to put you through that anymore._

_I spoke with my officer. This is my last trip. I'm coming home and staying home. There's no place I'd rather be than with you._

_There's a mini letter in here for Lola. No peeking, yeah? I'm planning some stuff for my return home and I need her to help me. And before you ask, yes it's something for you._

_But don't open it!_

_I can't wait to see you. Make sure you leave the light on for when I get back, yeah?_

The end is ripped off, just the corner, and Callum knows where it is. He hates to admit it, can already feel the sorrow digging away at the fragile state of his heart, but the truth was always going to catch up to him eventually.

He walks to the kitchen, staring down at the letter, a past version of himself that's so intertwined with his current one that it almost makes him faint.

Callum places his hand to the wall, closes his eyes so the room stops spinning. They said getting his memories back wouldn't be easy, but for them to hurt _this much?_ No one could've predicted that.

Not remembering the love he felt for Ben, the love that was enough to send him letters and write constantly — it's replaced with what he felt before; loneliness. The _want_ to find someone, feeling that he's worthless, spending so much of his life confused about who he is himself, all found in one person and one person only.

And now he can't even remember him.

Callum reaches the drawer, pulls it out slowly to see the framed picture of himself and Ben.

He didn't get chance to see it before. The initial shock of it the first time was distracting enough to miss how tranquil the picture is.

Ben has his arms around him, head on his chest, hair every which way and eyes closed. Callum is looking down at him, hand in his hair, leaning his head against his. 

They look… at peace.

Did Callum frame it, or did Ben? It's obvious Callum took the picture — and just maybe he has a version himself somewhere.

Maybe knowing the situation out there, the horrors Callum was going through, Ben wanted a reminder of him, a quiet one he could hold when the bed was empty beside him. It seems odd for a character like Ben to keep something so sentimental and lie about his feelings at the same time.

He still needs to ask why. That might be the hardest question of all.

Taking the small piece of paper stuck into the corner, Callum places the frame down on the side, allowing him two hands to prove what he originally thought.

The ripped piece matches perfectly to the letter. 

The last letter he sent.

And Callum feels it, rushing through his throat, the way his muscles constrict and he falls. His back sinks against the wall, eyes welling up. 

_I'll always come back to you,_

_C x_

He did, but he's not the same. Not the person Ben fell in love with.

The letter drops at his feet, floating almost for a few seconds before resting on the cold tiles.

There's so much pain in his chest, bruised and twisted, that he can't help but sob brokenly, hands to his face so that the world isn't so bright when he's feeling so down.

It _hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts._

Ben didn't want to tell him because he knew this would happen, and Callum feels this insane guilt for something he couldn't control.

\- - - 

It's a day before Ben gets a text. Callum wants to talk, the words inflict more fear than anything else. They don't have to meet for a few hours, the usual spot, _their_ spot. But even if it's hours, Ben feels hyper, not able to sit still, drinking water to ease the burn in his throat because even alcohol won't help this.

The hour he's due to be there, Ben is early, probably for the first time in his life. It's not long until he spots Callum.

Callum's tired. Ben can see it in the way he walks, how his head isn't held so high. And the smile he tries to muster, it feels like an arrow through Ben's shoulder, sudden, as if the blame is directly his.

It is, in some way.

"Hey," says Ben, standing up from where he was leaning against one of the windows of the cafe.

"Can we — talk?"

Ben knew this was coming, and for some reason, he wants to run a mile. He's wanted Callum to love him again for weeks, and yet faced with him now discovering parts of Ben, parts of _them,_ he's scared Callum will undoubtedly run away and find someone else that doesn't lie.

"Yeah. 'Course," he leads the way, opens the door and hears the familiar chime. Ben looks back to Callum as he holds the door for him, not even looking up, focusing towards their feet.

He's broken. _So broken._

"You uh, want the usual?" asks Ben, and Callum finally looks up, eyes on Ben before moving them towards the counter.

"No thanks," he sniffs. "I just wanna' talk. I just — didn't wanna' do it back at the apartment."

Ben nods, hovering for a moment and then leading Callum towards a table in the corner, away from prying eyes. They'll have to order something or they'll be kicked out, so Ben leaves him there for one second before ordering himself and Callum a drink. He knows he doesn't want one, but he feels they'll need it if they're going to be talking for a while.

Steve says he'll bring it to him, so Ben sits down at his and Callum's table once more, hoping he can meet Callum's eyes and give a smile, but nothing.

He expected so much when Ben's given him so little.

Neither of them really want to talk, at least not until Steve comes over and asks if everything is okay, considering they're both just sitting in silence compared to everyone else in the cafe.

"How did we —" Callum stops himself. Should he really be asking this? Should he just give up entirely trying to figure this all out?

Ben wasn't even going to tell him. Well, perhaps he would've, but when would that have happened? Two years down the line? After they're married and clicking glasses of champagne? When the guilt got too much to live a lie over the thing they had before?

Callum looks down, tapping the table, his usual order suddenly way too sweet to swallow. Nothing about this is easy, and the way Ben shifts in his seat shows neither of them really know what they're doing.

"Meet?" 

Eventually, the word sinks in, and Callum looks up to Ben's somber expression, as if now, he'll know the true extent of Callum's loss.

Callum's silence is the answer Ben never wanted, the way Callum's eyes cloud with something cold. He can't remember anything about Ben.

"How did we meet?" Ben repeats again, and Callum doesn't move, doesn't look away. He's so desperate for answers that he'll hang on to anything Ben gives him, even if the thought of it hurts.

Ben shoves his hands into his pockets, mouth open as he tilts his head back. _Shit._ None of this is easy, none of this is fair. None of this should even be _happening._

Callum starts to think Ben _won't_ answer him, taking his time to pluck pieces of a memory not even worth remembering, but Callum's never been more wrong.

"It was raining," starts Ben. "I live out of town, as you know, and I got caught here when it was raining. Had no coat. I saw this place and thought why not, I'll head inside, grab something to drink and wait it out," Ben looks towards the counter, the scene starting to play out in his head. "You were there, all smiles and laughter, asking for your usual so I knew you were a local."

Ah. The past, a Callum that was so much happier, so much more complete. But Ben looks sad telling him, as if it's not fair for him to live through it twice, and that it's not fair for Callum to hear his own life from someone else.

Callum still stares at him, quiet. He wants more.

"I thought you looked fit, to put it simply. Tried my luck with you, thought I'd like a night with you and then I'd avoid ever coming to this cafe again," Ben huffs, as if the memory of himself being that head over heels for Callum still makes his heart tingle. It does. "But you — well, you played hard to get. That's pretty much it. For some reason you walked me back to my car with that umbrella of yours, and we— well, _you_ said you'd like to chat some other time."

"I was the one that asked?"

"Yeah," Ben smiles, and Callum starts to sigh, smiling to himself. This isn't too bad. "You're quite good at getting what you want, because I did come back, and there you were again, all smiles to strangers and smiling at me as if I deserved any of that kindness."

Callum feels his heart sting. Ben thought that low of himself back then, too. He probably still does, even more so now.

"What were we like?" Callum sounds hopeful when he asks. Ben begins to pale.

He stutters before speaking, shaking his head, "You know I can't answer that. It's not fair to you, or to me."

"I trust you," replies Callum, and Ben shakes his head again, leaning back more into the chair, eyes to the ceiling.

"How? I already lied to you."

"You won't lie about this," Callum meets his gaze, seeing the hesitant way his lips fall open for a second before sitting up again. Callum knows him too well and yet they're practically strangers. "At least, I don't think you will."

He laughs, but Ben just smiles weakly, eyes down as he thinks about it. He wouldn't, really. Lying about how much he loved and still _loves_ him would be a sin he could never forgive himself for, and _god_ does he have more than enough of those to carry with him through life.

"No," Ben says, finally, meeting him with a smile that warms Callum's chest. "I wouldn't."

"To be honest, how we met before and now isn't all that different," jokes Callum, trying to find light in such a situation.

"Not exactly," Ben doesn't really believe in that stuff, coincidence, fate, but with Callum he might just start to see the truth in it. Whatever that may be.

"We found each other again, somehow."

Ben huffs, "I just like the coffee here."

"Ben—"

"I know," he holds his hand up, pressing it against his face afterwards, sighing. "I don't know why we do. I tried my best not to find you again."

"That's a lie."

Ben pauses, not sure exactly what he means, and he doesn't until Callum smiles, almost bashful. 

"See? I do lie," Ben shrugs, and Callum shakes his head.

"No, it's because you came back here," Callum means the cafe, him, _them._ "You wouldn't have done it if that was true."

Ben blanks, almost going pale, and he's not sure why he feels like laughing and crying, but he sniffs, trying to push it down. Callum really does know him.

 _"Fuck,"_ Ben mutters against his wrist, staring ahead towards Callum's hands, the breath he takes shaking against his ribs. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"I'd say _of course I am_ if I were you," Callum quips, and Ben looks at him then, something stirring in his stomach. He remembers blimps, triggers, but not all of it.

That hope makes Ben think of the worst, that Callum still loves him but won't be able to pick apart the differences with everything else he remembers.

He swallows the doubt, because Callum's here, isn't he? Ready or not, time has caught up to them, and now they're here in the simmering heat of it, the uncertainty of a future so shaky that not even Ben can try and control it.

Whatever happens, happens. And it fucking _terrifies_ Ben.

"We were good," starts Ben, longing in his eyes as he stares at Callum's hands. "You told me about what you did a few weeks in, and I knew you'd be this — on and off fling because I couldn't dare dream of having you. I didn't wanna' fall for you knowing — well. You know."

Callum listens closely, the noise of the cafe drowning out behind him, and then it's just him and Ben, two lonely hearts and the everlasting tune of finding somewhere to belong.

"I'd go round yours, or you'd come round mine. It was nice for a while, just having fun, being mates. You got to know my family for a bit, too. Lola adores you, Lexi looks up to you, and I thought about you more and more to the point where I couldn't look at another guy without missing you," Ben's eyes move to his own hands now, moving his thumb along his index finger. "There was a moment where I was like, _shit,_ I love this guy."

"Well, cheers."

But Ben doesn't laugh. Callum's smile fades.

"I— I didn't want to. I knew you had to go back out there, and it was okay the first time. But the second time I — I missed you so _fucking_ much. There was this ache in my chest every time I woke up and you weren't there next to me. We practically spent every night together the week before you left."

"We were together then?"

"At that point, yeah. We never said it, but we were," Ben shrugs. "I wanted to be. I wanted to stop you from going."

Callum sits back, allowing everything to settle before he looks back to Ben who seems irritable. 

"The third time you left, we had a year together before it. We went on holiday during that time too. Kissed you on the beach and said we were official for the first time even though we knew that already," he smiles at the fond memory, and for a moment, Callum frowns at remembering how the sand felt between his toes.

Then he sees it, the orange glow, the blue curves of the waves blurred and shining. A face, brown hair, a grin so big he can't recognise who it is, and a hand firmly in his as he pulls him into the waves.

Callum looks over Ben's face, and at that moment, Ben looks back too, smiling. It was him in that memory.

It's always been Ben.

"Why did you keep the letters?"

Ben doesn't expect the question, but it's not too far from their conversation anyway. He doesn't feel like being honest, but he has to. There's so much pain in his chest pushing outwards that he'll cry if he doesn't.

"It was the only thing I had left of you from before. Sounds stupid, and I probably won't ever repeat this, but it was like — like I was _holding you_ in some way, something physical instead of just — _words_ over the phone."

Callum feels the sting again, but this time it lingers longer.

"I was pissed at you for not wanting to video call because I missed you so fucking bad. I just wanted to see your face, but then the letters came through and I understood," Ben licks his lips, mouth feeling dry. He hasn't talked this much in months. "It got me out of bed, even if it was just to see what post I had. It got me writing back to you, and in a way I knew you'd be waiting like I did, having that— _piece_ of someone that someone's written for you to hold."

Ben doesn't think it'll do anything, but he watches Callum's jaw clench, and his eyes start to well up, blinking and quickly wiping away the tear that falls without anything to stop it. Shit. He's making him cry.

"I really did like you. I still do. You're still the Callum I met, you just—"

"Can't remember."

It feels like a punch to his chest, and Ben doesn't even nod in reply. He just looks away.

"She said I'll remember," Callum starts, hopeful with a slight croak in his throat from how he's holding back tears. "The doctor. Eventually I'll get everything back."

Ben lights up, but his shoulders fall seconds after, because that doesn't mean anything, doesn't confirm anything about them because feelings aren't memories. They're current, alive, forever changing.

"That's good," Ben says, a flutter in his voice. "That's— really good."

"Yeah," Callum smiles, breath stuck in his throat. "I— uh. I better get going. I'm kinda' tired after this and I can't push myself."

Ben doesn't move when Callum goes to stand up, his drink untouched, and he can see he's overwhelmed, not looking at him.

But he does stand up as Callum is about to leave the table, reaching for his hand. He lost him once, and he can't lose him again. 

"I still do, Callum," Ben whispers as Callum meets his eyes, and he watches them shine even more. "I still do."

_I still love you._

Callum smiles, looking away and intertwining their fingers for a few seconds before letting go. Ben feels cold as soon as he does, staring after Callum as he leaves the cafe, a weight in his legs that forces him to fall back, eyes closed.

He feels like he can breathe but he's drowning at the same time, heavy and sudden on the exhale.

Callum knows who they are, what they were, what they _could_ be. 

\- - -

That night, Callum can't sit still, but he's exhausted both mentally and physically, burdened between good will and doing what he needs to do.

He orders a takeaway, watching a borderline bearable movie while he thinks about nothing but Ben.

His hands burn, tingle, itching to touch, to remember what they've always known. Callum's never known himself so starved, but maybe it's the reminder of Ben making him this way.

Callum knows it's useless, even when he turns the TV so loud it hurts his ears, trying to settle the turmoil he feels itch down his spine. He has no idea Ben is going through the same on the other side of town, hovering near his phone and staring at it like it'll tell him the answers to the universe.

Callum goes to grab his phone too, but before he can do something he'll regret, he throws it to the side, pushing his hands into his hair, breaking apart the small use of gel from this morning.

His lungs feel heavy, loose, as if each part of him becomes a little more broken the more he sits there.

Ignoring it, he goes to take a shower, cold enough to send his soul through his skin, and makes his way to bed with darkness drowning his house.

Hours ago he couldn't stand being in the same room as Ben knowing the invisible weight on his shoulders. They have a past, he just can't see it, blurred and faded behind mosaic glass he can't seem to smash.

He can't fucking _sleep._ Ben's on his mind, constant and heavy. Bruising and fulfilling at the same time. It feels right, feels somewhat _normal_ to think about him — but then it simultaneously crushes and bends his spine in a way that makes him want to cry.

Callum reaches for his phone, squinting against the pixels, desperation in his fingertips as he tries to form words.

He shouldn't even be doing this. But he is.

_Callum: [i don't know why i even miss you]_

_Callum: [why am i feeling this way?]_

Ben takes a while, but he does reply, almost waiting for another text from Callum.

_Ben: [i wish i could tell you]_

_Callum: [you can]_

_Ben: [i can't. not this]_

_Callum: [i wanna see you]_

_Ben: [you can't]_

_Callum: [please ben. i need this. i need to try]_

Nothing. Nothing after that. And it's minutes, even what feels like hours before there's a knock at his door, and Callum's feet burn with every step knowing who it is.

He exhales as soon as he sees Ben on his doorstep, tired in the eyes, dressed in whatever he could find on the floor.

Ben doesn't say anything, because deep down he needs this too, always has.

He steps inside, Callum moving just enough and in time with him like two cogs that fit perfectly together. They work, always have, but it doesn't feel like that now.

Especially when the next second has Ben up against the door, Callum holding his face and Ben already pulling up his shirt. It feels like a drummer banging loudly on the drum, quicker with each second until Callum finally kisses him.

And then it's just peace. Solace. Hope and love in the form of old memories, warm as Callum lets him fall, held up by him alone.

They shouldn't do this. It only drives the cold metal in their hearts further and further. But _god —_ Ben's missed this, and Callum imagines he does too, because nothing matches the way his skin burns when Ben holds him, kisses along his jaw that spark fireworks deep in his chest.

Maybe they can have this. Where memories don't matter because this won't be one.

But they're fools to believe that. They both are.

\- - -

Callum holds him like he's holding home. Hand to his stomach as Ben stirs. If he doesn't think too much, this could be them without the past month weighing on their backs.

Ben blinks his eyes open to familiar walls, a warmth in his chest that's irreplaceable. There's nothing like being held, cuddled, enclosed in arms that lock everything else away and it's just Ben and his heart thumping away.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but being this close yet so far apart is agony that's unbreakable. It doesn't feel like they'll ever part with it, a permanent memory carved in the stone cold heart everyone thinks he has.

Callum was the only one able to thaw it, finding a gemstone.

He can feel Callum's awake, his fingers drawing delicate patterns over the skin of his thigh, patterns too measured and pressured to be conducted by sleep.

Callum doesn't want this moment to end either, remembering, kissing the back of Ben's neck as Ben nuzzles into the softness of the pillow, taking Callum's arm with him.

He understands the message, hugging Ben tight. This is the first time he's had Callum home, together.

It's slow, but Callum feels the small fractures of Ben's chest, the way he hiccups, and then it breaks entirely when Callum squeezes him closer.

Ben breathes out with the relief of it, but it hurts all the same, considering all that time of longing for him to come home inevitably extended because of what happened. Now he's here, finally in a place where Ben can just let it all out despite it being just a momentary truce.

Ben's crying, small sobs that break out into the silence, and Callum is helpless in doing anything but talking him through it.

"How long?"

He doesn't have to say anything else. In some way, Callum feels it too, missing him.

"A year, almost," says Ben, muffled, kissing the back of Callum's hand, then his wrist as Ben brings it up to his lips.

Callum nuzzles his nose into his hair, breathing deep before keeping still, but remaining a heavy and warm weight for Ben to curl back into. And he does.

"I'm sorry," Callum whispers, cold agony dwindling the warmth in his chest as Ben keeps his hand locked with Callum's against his lips.

"For what?" cries Ben. "This isn't your fault, Callum. None of it is."

Callum closes his eyes, trying one last time to search for it. Nothing comes back.

"I'm sorry for not remembering you," whispers Callum, a broken exhale at the end, and Ben pauses, turning over to see the way Callum still holds his eyes closed.

It's only when Ben starts kissing his chin, then along his neck and jaw that Callum opens them again. Ben knows when he does, hand against Callum's chest shaking with the exhale.

He brings his eyes back to his, searching in each one. The blue of his eyes hasn't changed at all.

"Me too," Ben has something behind those words, like it was partly his fault for not being such a staple on Callum's life that there was no anchor to hold them down.

"No," Callum says, taking his hand again, then moving it to Ben's jaw. "Don't say that. You _do_ remember me. This is all me."

"I— I am too. I'm to blame," Ben bites his bottom lip. "I could've been there, I could've been honest."

Callum shakes his head, "You had your reason."

His eyes make Ben feel he has to tell him that reason, but it's not a reason that could save them from the inevitable break.

 _"Fuck,"_ Ben's teeth dig into his lip, alive with static that feels like he's going to burn Callum if he doesn't leave soon. He can't let Callum be nice to him, to let him have forgiveness in whatever form.

He goes to leave, to sit at the end of the bed but Callum lets him leave, allowing the empty space to become a void. And Ben looks back, torn between living in a fake past or running towards a fair future.

Ben's never been fair, has he? He's always been selfish in some way, sunk his teeth into whatever gives him the next step ahead in life, but it's never been like that with Callum.

He was always the anchor, the constant, the steady, burning flame that warms and saves him from the cold elsewhere in the world. The one salvation.

Ben's spent so long without him, and it's only fate he falls back into that void, back to Callum, sighing against his lips when Callum's hands find his hair. It was always easy to go back to him before.

It's no different now, even if everything _is_ different.

But even _then,_ they don't know that, and it doesn't feel that way. Love has always been there, present, constant, and even if he was miles away, Callum still felt the same.

He still does. Callum just doesn't know how.

\- - -

They spend hours, almost the entire rest of the day just — _holding._ It's fine to let him leave and move on but it's wasted time if he does.

Because Callum wants him here, a living memory asleep in his arms, peaceful in his expression as his hair falls against the pillow. Callum knows why he took a picture like that, to have it saved for the world.

Ben always faces the world with war in his eyes, a lone wolf with the scars of his past. With Callum, the thunder and lightning settles to grey clouds, potential for the sun to shine through. But that's only if someone dares to try and open up such a feared and frightened heart.

Right now, he looks far beyond the guy that lied and more like a man he could love for a long time.

When Ben wakes up again, Callum smiles, but Ben doesn't return it, knowing their time is up. They both get dressed, not giving each other a single glance until Ben is shrugging his coat on and heading towards the door.

"Wait," Callum says, and Ben has never failed to follow Callum's word. He waits, hand on the door. "These are yours."

Ben looks down at the box, nothing but a sour memory coming back to him of all the times he cried tears over simple, cheap ink on paper.

"Keep them," Ben looks away, feeling as if he's just ripped part of his soul away. But in reality, he hasn't. "I— know all of them. Every word."

Callum is still staring at where he stood when the door clicks shut.

_God._

_How many times did he read them?_

He puts the box down, hand on his throat because it's suddenly hard to breathe. There's over 50 letters in there. Did he read them all over again when he came back, or did he just do it anyway?

And the truth in his voice, the pain of admitting it without hurting his pride. But that doesn't matter when it's Callum. He can paint the truth and lies so easily on Ben's face, or on his tongue when he speaks.

Callum remembers the last one, the most recent, and pulls out his phone to text.

There's something else here. He knows there is.

_Callum: [did you ever give me that thing I asked for?]_

_Lola: [yeah. do you want me to tell you?]_

_Callum: [no, it's alright. thank you.]_

Callum leaves his phone on the side after saying where she put it. She looked after his house during the time in the hospital. Ben couldn't, the place feeling strange, almost like a nightmare every time he went to walk inside.

He sighs as he sits on the floor inside his bedroom, nervous and shaken as he shovels through old boxes, childhood memories, memoirs from past years that settle some sort of warmth inside. Everything seems so far apart but coming into place at the same time.

Then he finds it, the crumpled package, _Callum_ written in cursive at the top. It's never been opened since it was sealed, a time capsule locked away for whenever Callum wants to open it.

He's scared because this is for a Callum that's not the current one. His feelings back then aren't the ones he has now, or that's how he _thinks_ it works.

In truth, he doesn't know, lost to what's real and what's desperation to feel somewhat _himself_ again. This could be anything, and the endless things it could be are frankly more than frightening.

He kind of doesn't even want to open it, leaving it by his feet and staring at his name like it isn't even his. This has something to do with Ben, priceless, requested in his last letter, boundless opportunities. 

Callum decides to go do something else until he's running back upstairs because he can't do anything until he knows what this is. It was important enough to ask for it, so why not find out what the last ever request was?

Ripping open the top, he settles against the sheets of his bed as he pulls out a piece of paper, something heavy still in the parcel.

_Hope he's worth it. You saw something no one else did._

_— Lola x_

\- - -

Ben's on the other side of town when he gets the text. It sends a chill down his spine. He didn't expect Callum to get back to him for a while, but here he is, four hours later, hoping he comes over.

_Callum: [need to talk to you]_

_Callum: [im at my house]_

Ben tells Jay he'll be out for a bit, grabbing his coat and leaving to see traffic down the other end of the street. _Shit._

He gets in his car, deciding to go the long way round, but the world is against him today, as it is all days, putting Ben in another block of traffic, prompting Ben to text him while he's stationary.

_Ben: [in traffic but im on my way]_

_Ben: [you ok?]_

Ben looks at his phone until the cars start moving, throwing it to the other seat while he drives. It's only when he arrives at Callum's house twenty minutes later that he sees Callum never replied.

Now he's worried, nervous.

Ben locks his car on the way up to his door and it's quiet. Ben's only been gone a day but it feels longer. The air doesn't quite sit right, constricting and strange, making his hair stand on end.

Or maybe it's regret, knowing that he had his second chance with Callum and decided to fuck it all up. He didn't have to lie to him, to try and somehow save him from pain that's already been inflicted. Ben could've just written him a note, moved on as he planned to.

But it's not easy to walk away, not from Callum, not when he's already waited so long for him to come back. 

So he's here now, running back to him even when Callum told him to leave, simply because he's strictly fallen for Callum. He loves him. Hangs on to the promise that Callum wrote to him in a letter and hasn't let go since. This isn't what he'd usually do, but this is Callum, the guy he promised he'd love no matter the turmoil.

Ben knocks twice to no answer. Callum would be here by now, it doesn't take long to move through his house, and it's that thought out of any other that reminds him how much Callum _is_ his life. It revolves around him, _with him,_ and without it would throw Ben off his axis for weeks, maybe even months.

He pushes the door, noticing it's open, and bites his tongue. Callum asked him back, and considering the last time they spoke it was all rain and fire between them, he's not expecting him to welcome Ben with open arms.

The same atmosphere outside of his house triples inside. Ben pulls at the collar of his shirt a little, shutting the door with his back to it. Of all the times this felt like home, it's as if a stranger lives here now, relics and trinkets from their early holidays now a ghost of what they were before.

"Callum?" He calls out, silence answering back. 

Ben walks slowly through the house, almost seeing it as a museum tour, the pockets of memories that come back to him that no longer remain for Callum.

He feels sick, walking past places that used to hold photos, Ben having to take them down when he got news of what happened to Callum. Ben always felt Callum didn't deserve him, that he could and should have found someone else, but Ben was always selfish and _clinged_ to the fact Callum chose _him._ Ben, of all people, being the direct source of someone's undeniable love? Sounds like it'd be too good to be true.

But it is true, in some odd, twisted and jaded way. Maybe Callum still loves him, or he's learning to love again.

It doesn't prepare Ben for the sight of him, though.

Shoulders sagged, hair loose and falling forward, the glisten on his cheek from fallen tears, cheeks red and eyes void of their usual colour. 

He's broken, barely held together, hands moving over a box that seems velvet, tiny, capable of holding the capsule for a future Callum wasn't even aware of.

A letter sits beside him on the bed, and Ben lingers in the doorway, face equally fallen, guilt stinging at the backs of his eyes. If Ben had just told him, told him the truth, sat down with Callum and gave him the _choice —_ maybe this would be different.

They'd be _different._

"I was going to marry you," whispers Callum, hands pausing their movements on the box.

Ben's eyes look down to the box, and his heart throttles towards his ribs, shatters the bone and squeezes a sob from his lungs. 

His head hangs, not having the strength to look at Callum, vision blurry as the ground stretches beneath his feet. Maybe it'll swallow him whole.

"Sit," Callum says, voice broken, throat dry. He still doesn't look at Ben, but it's obvious there's a space next to him for one person only, "Please."

Ben looks up, could almost smile at Callum still being the rational one when they're both so broken, apart in ways that can't be fixed with the usual sorry. This is two lives broken with fragments too small to fix, too many to find and piece back together until they're truly whole.

His heart yearns, mourns the love now lost, and Ben follows his wishes as if there's no other option. Ben drags his feet, feeling heavy, a stranger in his own body that grows more anxious, more conflicted the closer he steps towards Callum.

And as he sits, their knees just brushing, Ben feels his body turn ice cold. This is it. 

It's either now, or there'll be nothing else but a _never._

"Lola," starts Callum, looking out to the wall, old blue paint they argued over a year ago starting to look a little drab. "I wrote to Lola, asking for her to do me a favor. I was back home in four weeks, and I wanted it to be ready for when I did."

Ben stares at the box in Callum's hand, thinking that months ago, he could've been saying yes, already twirling it around his finger in preparation for the day it becomes official. 

It's not now, though. A ring meant to show devotion and love in all its entirety is now nothing more than a burning, solid remembrance of what they were before, what _Callum_ was before.

"I must've been… excited. I couldn't wait until my tour was over, just writing a letter to my boyfriend's best mate so she could go buy the ring for me," Callum brushes his thumb over the hinge at the back. "Apparently you picked this one, joking about it as we passed some store. You said—"

"One day I'll make you buy me one of these."

Silence, for a moment, a brief smile on Callum's face.

"And turn me down?" continues Callum, easily slotting back into place.

Ben smiles now too, tears pushed forward. He can't stop them anymore, not when a memory he holds so fondly is recited back to him.

Callum remembers this. Not all of it, but enough.

"No, I'd say—"

 _"Yes,"_ breathes Callum, shaking on the exhale. He squeezes the box between his hands, bringing it up to his forehead, as if some way it'll transfer all the thoughts and feelings he had about Ben back to him.

They don't.

"I was gonna' come home to you. This time I'd stay, make it be my last tour," Callum pushes his hands through his hair, sniffs as they fall back to his knees. "That would've been it. Me and you — 'till we're old and grey."

Ben parts his lips, but the words don't come. He's scared of what Callum might answer, or what he undoubtedly _will_ answer, picking at the edge of his shirt.

Ben feels like a kid, bruised with bandages, feet not touching the ground, not ready for the world and the awful deals of fates weaving hands.

But it can't get worse than this. It's leap or fall — no in between.

"Is it, still?" asks Ben, looking to the floor.

Callum's holding the metaphorical reins of fate, deciding which way he wants to bend the wings of whatever butterfly that will change the future. 

"I don't know," because Callum doesn't. There's so much conflicted hurt, pain, and somewhat _relief_ in his chest that he needs to let it fight and somehow be pleased with whatever wins.

It doesn't feel as if he has control over this part. This is entirely decided on Callum's heart, how it beats, how it functions for a man sitting next to him but feeling as if he's ten miles down the road.

"Okay," is all Ben replies, sniffing as he wipes the back of his wrist against his lip. He's still crying.

He stands up, and for a moment, he hopes Callum stops him, says _wait_ and Ben will turn around and kiss him again. It's never that easy, but it's not always predictable.

"Why?" is punched out through Callum's lips as Ben reaches the doorway, hand on the frame as he listens to Callum break into a sob behind him.

It feels like a walk of shame, but even more shameful than that. He walks in the shoes of guilt because he's a liar, a coward, and yet somehow some selfish part of him still wants forgiveness Callum shouldn't give him.

But the word _why_ hangs heavy, gripping Ben's throat until it forces a reply out of him.

"What?"

"Why did you lie — why weren't you there when I woke up?" Callum moved and Ben didn't hear.

Ben turns to see Callum standing there, tears falling down his face, a sag to his shoulders as he grips the ring box loosely in his hand. In another life, he'd be down on one knee right now, proposing.

But this isn't that life, and Ben has to swallow the spiked, horrible truth of it.

"I was scared," admits Ben, the image of Callum barely held together in the soft evening light pulling off the layers of armour he holds so proud like a badge of honour. With Callum, they fail. They always do.

Callum shrugs, almost laughing. He has to bite his tongue from shouting.

"Why?" he repeats again, because what does _Ben_ have to be scared of?

Ben turns away, teeth digging into his bottom lip quite painfully, almost enough to draw blood because he can't cry anymore. He doesn't want to.

He doesn't want to admit this, either, because he was petrified of it the first time, and he always will be.

"I was scared you wouldn't love me," Ben sobs out, a choked sob following after, turning his head away to lean against the frame of the door. "I — I wasn't scared you'd forget me. I was scared we'd never have what we had again. I already lost someone once, and the thought of losing you— I—"

He can't finish, wiping his eyes with the curve of his hand. Ben needs to leave, because they both need space to sort out this monumental wreckage of reality.

"I was there when you woke up. You—" Ben holds his wrist against his lips, the burn in his chest starting to choke him. "You didn't remember me. I was lucky for you to love me before, and I— I didn't want to face the reality of never having that again."

Callum stands there, frozen, almost in limbo as he watches Ben mumble _I'm sorry_ with his back turned, walking down the hall and out the door quicker than he came in.

The box drops out of Callum's hand, head tilting back to the ceiling. He has to grip where his heart is, the pain swelling, bruising, and it makes Callum gasp for air because every bone in his face and chest hurts from the strain of trying not to break.

He loved this man enough to marry him, to want to spend a mortal eternity with him.

That's why he's here. It all makes sense now. Ben's family is here, and he met Ben here when all of his family moved away. He stayed because of Ben, because he _loved_ Ben, but Callum doesn't even know what that love for Ben feels like.

It must be this, the pain. This isn't love though, it's the opposite. Complete heartbreak.

Ben's long gone by the time Callum gains some sort of being, momentarily stuck in this state of feeling lost and unable to place his feet when he's already standing.

Fuck. _Fuck._

What does he do now? What do _they_ do, now?

They could start over, never speak again, or even just — _finish_ what they started. All three options seem horrible, as if each one causes Callum to feel sick to his stomach, that he's scared of messing up.

But then Ben messed up, too. He's the reason they're in this distant storm, echoes of thunder behind them with the brittle lightning that appears for mere seconds of life before fading. That's how it feels with Ben.

Something. Too quick to hold and too quick to name. Maybe that's how it's always been, the back and forth before they even thought about love. Perhaps he's remembering through feelings instead of memories, and Callum knows that Ben has always been a part of him, the longing ever since he woke up in that hospital bed.

Looking down to the box, Callum leans down and almost falls on shaky legs to retrieve it. The softness of the fabric the box is lined with feels rough now, as if this isn't his.

He flips the box open, a silver band edged with gold. Simple. _Ben._

Callum takes it out of the box, and the metal is cold, sharp in how it battles against the warmth of his fingertips.

It weighs nothing, but in reality, it weighs more than anything right now, holding it in the connected palms of both hands after placing the box behind him on the bed.

It's… so small. So insignificant compared to what it means to _them._ Ben and Callum, the string of fate between them weighed down by a mere shaped, thin piece of silver and gold.

Callum pokes his thumb through it, picking it up so he can push at the edge with his other finger, revealing the engraving on the inside; _Third Time Lucky._

And it transports Callum back, breath punched from him, one memory suddenly so clear.

_"You gonna' go on a date with me?"_

_"Nah. You don't want that."_

And then another, further down in their timeline.

_"C'mon, it's been three months. I like you, and you like me."_

_"Damn, Callum. I don't think anyone's ever tried asking me out twice."_

Lastly, the final memory, and Callum can still feel how cold it was that morning, making him shiver now, remembering Ben's face with an aura much different to the broken one he just witnessed.

It was early, too early. But Ben doesn't follow the rules of time much, neither of them do.

_"What are you— why are you here?"_

_"Thought I'd ask you out this time. Can't let you have all the glory at the wedding speech can I?"_

_"You don't even know if I'll say yes after you've said no twice."_

_"Well, I'm saying it now. Third time lucky?"_

Callum grips the ring in his fist, head dropping. This was meant to be _his_ third time asking Ben a question of love. It was meant to be _his_ third time lucky hearing Ben finally say yes to being with him.

And now he's just watched him walk away with the fear of Callum never loving him again.

His heart wouldn't ache this way if he didn't. He still loves him, and that's why it hurts so much to find the truth in such a broken way, given in pieces just like his memories.

Every second counts, every moment, because tomorrow isn't promised, and Callum's had that on his mind always when out there. He was given another tomorrow at the price of something else, but he can control it now, he has this chance.

It's his fingertips on the wings of such a delicate moment, and Callum is too broken, too heavy in his heart to decide right now.

But he needs to. He needs to decide if the third time's the last time or the start of many more.

Callum places the ring against his heart, gripping his shirt, and he lets the pain swell until it bursts from his lungs. He needs to feel it in order to understand it, and _god — it burns._

There's no making this sweet or bitter in order to swallow it, because it's wild, brutal, and Callum barely feels himself by the time the tears stop, still with the ring gripped in his fist. 

It's not over, but at the minute he's in the eye of the storm, waiting for the next inevitable rupture to the one already existing inside.

But it leaves Callum with a silence he's never had before, the first time without white noise. It allows him to think, to stay afloat in an ocean without land on the horizon.

It's himself and his own thoughts for the first time since he woke up in that bed. He's accepted the pain, held it tight and _squeezed it,_ and now he's left with the cold aftermath of picking himself up.

Callum stands up on shaky legs, still with the ring, and starts to make his way, hands on the wall to steady himself so he can make a drink to ease the rough scratch of his throat.

One step at a time. Ben can't rush him with this.

\- - -

A week passes. A cold, miserable week. Ben spends most of it checking his phone, staying in bed for longer than he needs to, skipping work.

_He could be engaged. He could be married._

He doesn't think he's ever cried like that before, the night he got home after Callum told him. Ben's never met anyone that's loved him like Callum has, and the thought of him counting down the days until he comes home to ask him to marry him drives a pain so deep it'll stick with Ben for a lifetime.

This is it, now. Everything is there, out in the open, and Ben needs air. He just walks, heading down any street, watching families laugh and plan trips out on a rather drab Saturday morning. 

Ben doesn't know where he's going, just lets his feet carry him, heart steering.

A bell chimes.

The cafe.

Ben looks up to the sign, frowning because it hurts to read something like that. Callum never forgot him, just misplaced, confusing.

At least, that's what he lets himself believe.

"Hey."

Ben looks in front of him, towards the voice, and his heart stutters, then thumps _loud_ in his ears.

"Callum," he says, a little breathless. He didn't mean to walk all the way here, back to him, back to _them._

He smiles, and Ben smiles too. Something's different, the air feeling open. 

"That's me," he jokes.

Ben releases the breath he was holding, chuckling when Callum does, but he needs to ask, to be sure.

"Are you— are you okay?" 

Callum's face falls at the question. Of course he isn't.

His head drops and Ben wants to step closer and hold him up, but Callum does it all on his own, readjusting his shoulders with a newfound confidence.

"Yeah. Yeah," Callum repeats, making sure he sounds positive when he's not entirely sure that he should be. "I've been — thinking about us."

Ben swallows his heart in his throat.

"Me too," replies Ben, and it's with those words that Callum looks at him, one side of his lips curving upwards. Ben does the same, because if anything has stayed the same, it's their love, and how contagious Callum's smiles are.

"Well, I know I'm not the guy I was, or— I _am_ but I don't know who that is yet. But I will, in time, and I know that back then I loved you enough to marry you," Callum feels like they should be doing this at home, but now is better than never. It almost feels natural doing it this way. "But I know I don't want to lose who I was, what we were."

Ben doesn't know how he feels. It's like a whirlwind in his chest compared to his blank, focused stare towards Callum.

It's happening.

"I know we can't fix what happened. In a way, I don't want to, because everything happens for a reason even if we don't want it to, right?"

"I don't really believe in that," adds Ben, and he shouldn't. He should just shut up and let Callum speak, but Callum laughs at him, bubbly and open.

Yeah. Ben loves him. He always will.

"I know you don't. I remember," he says, and the word _remember_ sparks flames down Ben's spine.

Slowly. Slowly they'll be together again.

"You said you didn't want to lose me, and I didn't want to lose you too from the way I wrote my letters to you. I really loved you, I can see that, and I— I feel it when I look at you," Callum brings his hand to his chest, fingertips pressing firm. "It's in here, whatever it is, and even now, when you're here, it's like I don't ever wanna' leave."

Ben can feel the sting at the backs of his eyes. He's said that before, said it to warm and mute Ben's insecurities. 

_"You could have anyone else, you know."_

_"Yeah, I could," and Callum turns to him, blue eyes bright in the dark. "But I never want to leave you."_

And then Callum's voice overlaps, the one in his head and the voice in front of him, physically.

_"I miss you when I'm gone."_

"I miss you when you're gone."

Ben swallows down the pressure in his chest, teeth clenched together because he can't cry, not now.

"But it's hard for me to be the person you loved right now, and I don't want to rush into things, so—"

Callum steps forward, and Ben thinks he's going to do just that before he stops, only taking one step.

Callum stretches his hand out, nose red from the cold. Ben smiles, as if he already knows what he's doing.

"Callum Highway," he says, the same bright smile Ben fell in love with at first glance already there.

And Ben meets him in the middle, shaking his hand, a sting in his eyes. He's giving him a fresh start — Callum's giving _both of them_ a chance to start over.

The proper way. _Their way._

"Ben Mitchell," replies Ben, smirking when Callum pulls back, healthy flush on his cheeks. "Can I buy you a coffee?"

Callum frowns, about to say _you know I don't drink coffee —_ but the smirk gives it away. He's playing along, going with Callum this time, his pace, not the back and forth tennis of hoping it all goes okay.

"Not a fan of coffee," Callum says, coming to stand beside him, brushing shoulders. "Hot chocolate would be nice, though."

Ben's smirk calms to a smile, looking over Callum's face as if he never thought he'd see him again. And he shouldn't say it, but Ben has never been one to keep to himself, especially not around Callum, even more so when it's his feelings towards him.

And when they're waiting for Callum's drink, Ben still feels uneasy, still does when they sit down at a table.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Mm?" Callum looks away, towards the menu even if he knows it off by heart again. 

"About me," Ben whispers, hugging his coffee mug to warm his hands, looking down to the liquid itself because he's scared of what Callum might say. "About us."

The silence drags on, and Ben's curiosity outweighs his nerves. When he looks back up, Callum is looking back, a warm smile on his face, and it's one he's seen before.

It's the exact same one when Callum said he loved him for the first time. 

And it's that smile, the way Callum moves his pinky finger to gently touch Ben's bruised knuckles, covered in bandages, that he realises it's a _yes._

Ben could almost cry, and he does, sniffing and trying to wipe it away so that the other customers don't see.

But Callum's there, brushing away another one, hand cupping his cheek a moment before breaking away.

"I've never been so sure of anything else," whispers Callum, only for Ben to hear. "Promised, didn't I? _I'll always come back to you."_

It feels like something strikes against his chest, warm, knocking him back. But Ben just sits there, staring, lips parted as if he can't believe it, eyes solemn and expression shifting to one where Ben looks broken.

_And you did — you did come back._

Ben stands up, walks around to the other side of the table, ignoring the way some of the other customers jump at the way his chair screeched along the floor.

Callum reaches for him before he's even there, kissing him softly, holding and framing his face, his entire world in his hands.

And when they break, Ben rests his forehead against his, eyes open to the blue he remembers.

"You're an idiot, Callum Highway," laughs Ben, thumb moving under his eye, still not believing Callum is here, back home.

"Ever the romantic, aren't you?" Callum smiles back, chuckling before he kisses Ben again, both of them smiling so bright he can't help but laugh because they can't kiss like this.

They leave after just — _sitting,_ admiring being together without a grey cloud raining between them. Ben rests his head on Callum's shoulder, breathing for the first time ever since Callum got back home.

It feels good. Feels right.

Callum still needs time, they both understand that, and as much as they promise to take things slow, they can't.

After two months and the fourth date, they end up sleeping together, kissing slow and tender, remembering what it's like to hold and treasure.

And later, when Ben is laying his head on his chest, drawing circles over his heart;

"I love you," he says, whispered and broken.

"I know you do, Ben—"

"You don't—" Ben cuts him off, leaning up on his elbow, hand still covering Callum's heart. "I never— I never told you that before."

Callum blanks. He just assumed he would have, that Callum can't remember it. But surely, something as important as that he would've remembered, a set of three words that mean so much to him, probably more than most other people.

"You never…?"

"No," Ben looks away, bites his lip. "To this day I feel it's the reason why you never remembered me. I never said it back, didn't prove it to you — so you didn't know any better when you woke up."

Callum adores him, settling his hand on his cheek as Ben looks solemn, regret clear in the way he holds himself in his posture.

"Thank you," Callum says, and Ben blinks, not sure why he's saying thanks for something like that. But Callum doesn't leave him to guess. "For not forgetting me."

He's about to laugh, but then it hits Ben how much those words mean. Ben could've walked away, he almost did, but he came back determined not to forget him even if Callum did. Ben would have been that, just a name, the love that got away, but he never left.

He was always there, and Callum's scraped back the layer of paint to find him again, bright and beautiful and finding a gemstone in the rough because that's what Ben is.

Everyone said he deserved better, but Callum decides what he deserves, and he's never felt a love like this, one that comes back like a boomerang, strong enough to remain even miles apart in the form of letters and promises to always come back to each other.

Ben drops his head to his chest, heartbeat in his ears, smiling as Callum wraps his arms around him, smiling as he kisses into Ben's hair.

 _"I love you too,"_ he whispers, and Ben's chest swarms with thousands of— _something._ Love is nameless, boundless, and he feels like nothing will ever be better than this.

It's so much more than that, more than anything he's felt before because it's real, proven and in the palms of his hands as he holds Callum's head, kissing him with smiles on their lips. 

Why did he ever think Callum would never love him again?

They're in love, always have been. It's more than just memories for them. 

And yeah, Ben does say _yes_ three months later. 

Third time lucky.

\- - -

_We go through life not thinking about the time we'll need a second chance. Sometimes they're given to us and sometimes we wish we had one._

_I'd say live life as if it was the second chance, do all the things you want to do instead of regretting that you didn't. It might be too late by the time you realise this instead of reading it at the end of a fanfiction — but take it from someone who wishes they did have that second chance, maybe even a third._

_Tell that person, do that thing, hold what you have close instead of thinking it's normal to have it._

_We never know how many chances we'll get, or the people around us._

_Hold it close. Don't let it go, even when it's gone._

_Maybe one day it'll come back, no matter in what way. There's always a second chance, or even a third, in some way._

**Author's Note:**

> oceandawning - tumblr  
> oceandawns - twitter


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